What I've Become
by CodPor
Summary: Fallout 3. The wanderer reflects on how she's changed since leaving the Vault.


A note to myself:

I'm recording this for my own sake, in case I ever forget why I'm out here.

For the past few months, I've been following my father through the capital wasteland. Growing up in the Vault, I had put value on being tough for the sake of my friends, but I never imagined how tough I'd have to be when I left.

In just a few months outside, I've grown up so much. When I first stepped foot in the wasteland settlement of Megaton, I was a shy, uncertain girl, with nothing to my name but what I'd carried with me from the Vault. I clammed up when the town's sheriff, Lucas Simms, greeted me, and I must have sounded like a lost child when I asked Moira, the general store owner, what she knew about my father.

Since then, I've fought my way through the wasteland, going up against raiders, wild animals, and swarms of Super Mutants, and gaining knowledge and equipment with each encounter. I came to know the wasteland, to some extent, but I never really felt at home out here.

That's because I always had a goal pulling me forward. I had to find my dad. There were no two ways about it. Life was tough, yeah--I didn't really like what wasteland living was doing to me--but I figured it was all temporary. I just had to find my dad, and everything else would sort itself out. Hell, for a while I was even carrying around some pre-war clothes, thinking I'd have occasion to wear something "nice" when this was all over.

(sigh)

Deep down, I knew I was fooling myself. I kept ignoring that doubt that was creeping up inside me. "I'll find Dad..." I told myself, and didn't bother with "...and then what?"

It feels like I've been chasing him for a long time. Something he said in one of his holotapes (it should be on here, unless I've deleted it) comes to mind. His goal in his research was always "just around the corner". My goal, too, always seemed to be just a few steps ahead. By the end, I was chasing him full-time, neglecting everything else in hopes of finally catching up.

And then, I did.

There was no celebration when we were reunited. I didn't get a chance to dress up for the occasion, but it wouldn't have mattered, anyway. Seeing his own daughter for the first time after thinking he'd never see me again, he had no peace to offer me; only a request for help with his project.

I couldn't believe the way he talked about it. I asked him about everything that had happened, and as he spoke passionately about the importance of his work, I became more and more embarassed for following him all the way out here. He didn't even care about what I had gone through. He certainly didn't want to stop his pursuit and settle down.

After I'd heard everything he had to say, I told him how I felt. He didn't seem too bothered; he didn't retract his plea for help. He just went on his way. I went after him, though I told myself not to, and caught him outside. I didn't offer to go with him; I just looked at his face in the sunlight. I had never seen him in sunlight before. I watched him go, until he was too far away to see, then I went inside and drank myself into a stupor.

I threw out the clothes I had been carrying. My old baseball bat and cap went, too. I was tired of carrying that sentimental crap around. The only old outfit I held on to was the embroidered leather jacket that Butch had given me the day I left the Vault. I think I was looking for something new to believe in, because when I was sober enough to walk again, I went straight back to Vault 101.

Entering the abandoned mine that led into the Vault, I seemed to be brought back to the day I left. I saw the steel gear door closing in my mind as if it were happening in front of me. I walked up to the door and pressed my hand against it, thinking back to the innocent days of my childhood. Then, something caught my eye; something I had missed in my hurried escape. Littered around the cavern floor were white paper signs, with messages written on them. One of them sticks out in my memory: it said "We're dying, assholes!"

It got me thinking. What kind of life was that, to live in the Vault? I had all the comfort I could ask for, while the people out here, the people of Megaton and the rest of the wasteland, were fighting just to survive. There are people I care about out here who I would have left to die without even knowing they existed.

I couldn't go back, and even if I could, I wouldn't want to. I'll never get to see Butch or Amata again, and I'll never get to tell them what the world is really like. I left Butch's jacket lying by the Vault door, with a small note tucked in the lapel in case that door should ever open. Then, I walked out of there, with no intention of ever returning.

Looking at the night sky from that mountainside, I began to accept what I've become. I'm no longer a sheltered vault-dweller. I'm a wastelander. I know how to find good water when away from civilization; I know how to use naps to keep sharp when a full night's sleep isn't an option; I know how to keep my hands steady when shooting someone, and I've looked into the eyes of fellow human beings and killed them because I knew I had to.

This is the person I've become. I keep myself alive, and help others when I can. I give Moira a hand with her research, and try to look after our little town when I'm not afield. Simms, the sheriff, is dead. I still blame myself, even though I tried to do what I thought was right. These days, though, Megaton is looking nicer and nicer. I've got a house here, and I might settle down someday. In the meantime, it's the closest thing to a constant home I have.

If I'm listening to this again, it's probably because I'm feeling some doubt about the way I live. If everything I just said didn't convince me, just remember this: I've never felt more satisfied than I do right now. I'm living the life I'm meant for, I know it.

That's all. I hope this helps me sleep someday.


End file.
